


Kinktober 2019: Bard Boogaloo

by bettergettheserioustoothpaste, Tazartist (KarkatHorns)



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Masks, Medical Play, Multi, the suicide attempt isn't really plot important but it's just there as a content warning, will update tags daily to avoid clogging them before they actually appear lmao
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-08 11:38:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20834837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettergettheserioustoothpaste/pseuds/bettergettheserioustoothpaste, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KarkatHorns/pseuds/Tazartist
Summary: A special Kinktober 2019 entry where pretty much every major character from the Balance arc gets it on with Johann in a myriad of ways.Because why not.[not abandoned. i just have a lot of shit going on right now.]





	1. Masks - Taako

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johann goes to a masquerade ball. Three cheers for anonymity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kicking off the first chapter with a delightful contribution from my good friend duma karkathorns, who is excellent in every way possible, and not only gave me the idea for the prompt but looked it over for me when i was done, so thanks for that 👌

Johann's been at the Bureau for a very long time.

Pretty much since it started being a thing. He doesn't know how long Lucretia had the Voidfish before he showed up, but he can't imagine it would have been very long, considering how needy they were. There definitely weren't as many people working here when he started. There were a fair few, perhaps, but he's inoculated countless, multiple passing through the Rotunda at any given time, ready to take their ichor shot and get on with whatever the fuck they were hired to do. Is it mean not to care? Johann isn't exactly going to tell them to their face that he doesn't care, he's willing to make conversation (to distract them from the taste, if nothing else) (not to mention the feeling of having a good half of their subconscious memory unlocked) but Johann isn't exactly the social type. He never has been. People aren't his wheelhouse, and that is okay. Kind of ironic, and counter-intuitive, considering his profession, but a Charisma stat is good for more things than flirting himself into the average barmaid's drawers, of course. That's just a tired stereotype.

The fact that Johann is so adamant about leading a solitary existence directly contradicts the fact that he's at this party. He's aware of the hypocrisy, don't worry. He doesn't know why he's here either. At the very least, it's a masquerade party, so there's no risk of ruining his insular reputation. Anonymity is key, here, and he doubts that his voice alone is memorable enough to tip him off. (There's also Mockingbird Gum for that, but he really can't be bothered. Stuff is gross, and he'd rather be able to enjoy the minibar without that backtaste, thank you.)

He's wearing a white shirt. Long sleeves, kind of baggy, comes down to his ass, comically large burgundy buttons. No collar. He's paired it with equally white bloomers (his, changed from navy via prestidigitation, rolled up from mid-thigh length to be about as short as they _can_ be while also conforming to decency code) and what look like fishnets. And socks. Perhaps an odd choice with fishnets, but they're just very cute. They come up to just over his knees and he thinks they make his legs look really nice. His Bureau uniform usually comes with a hat, so he doesn't wear one for the moment, instead choosing a theatrical white eye mask with little gold bits on it. And a lone singular tear, because Johann is a drama gay.

(He's ruining the art. He knows that. Pagliacci is a sad story about how nobody appreciates artists and their private lives enough. He's not meant to be sexy and he's sure this costume is somehow offensive to clowns. Johann recognises it, but elects to ignore it, for now, because never mind. He's not actually too invested in clown feelings.)

He's put a _lot_ of effort into his appearance tonight. He's been getting ready all day. He washed his hair, and his face, and he even put mascara on. He's wearing fishnets, which he guilt bought from Fantasy Costco in a moment of weakness and were sure would never see the light of day, but here he is, wearing them in public, like a fool. His costume is perhaps thin, predictable, but would require the kind of confidence to even _think_ of, let alone wear outside, that most of the Bureau would definitely not attribute to Johann and would therefore write him off as an option immediately. (At least, that was the intention. He'd said hi to Brad, who he recognised instantly from trying to put his glasses on the outside of his masquerade mask and not understanding why that doesn't work very well. Brad, in turn, recognised him almost instantly, somehow, which kind of put the fear of the gods into Johann a bit. And then he proceeded to ruffle Johann's out of its' carefully prepared style. In affection, of course, but.... not needed. Go away, Bradley.)

It's not something he'd typically sign up for. It's not even something the Bureau would even typically do, so the gods themselves only knew what the fuck _that_ was all about. It was just a choice he'd made, looking at the flyer. That maybe for once he just wanted to go out and have a good time, and maybe this was the push he needed to be a little less anti social? Because it's not like Johann doesn't _want_ friends. He's just scared of having them. So he resolves to go anyway. Get a few drinks down him. See what happens. Worst came to worst, he could always leave, and then he'd just be doing what he would be doing _anyway_ if he didn't go, so it was kind of like a win/win, right?

Nothing could possibly go wrong.

-

He's about seven or eight drinks in when he notices an iridescent mongoose loitering near the alcoholic drinks table. 

(There's a non alcoholic drinks table too, of course. It's in a completely different part of the room than the alcoholic drinks table, just so people don't get confused. Both are clearly marked, anyway, so hopefully there should be no issue with that. There's no issue with it on Johann's end, because he's attempting to get as wasted as possible. Which is probably not the most noble ambition for a party, but he can mark that one down to a lack of experience.)

Nonetheless, guy seems to be checking him out. Unexpected, but Johann has enough drinks inside him to be entirely unbothered by the prospect. He finishes the one in his hand (eighth, does that make it now? Or possibly ninth?) in a short, fluid motion, and moves a little closer. Enough to be noticeable, but keeping his distance enough to pretend that he's getting another drink. That's all. He pours it slowly, deliberately, and pretends he's ignoring the other entirely. It's a pretty high Performance roll, but he does well enough to pull it off, he thinks.  
  
Doesn't matter either way, it seems. The mongoose takes the lollipop out of their actual mouth, which is a little disconcerting considering the mask also has a mouth, and speaks.

"Nice tights."

It's not a voice he recognises. But again, magic gum. He was kind of prepared for that. Johann shrugs.

"Thanks." Not really a lot he can say to that. He takes a sip of his drink. "They were, uh, a panic buy from the Fantasy Costco." This is good punch. Fuck. When he's sober he should ask who set it up. And then ask them for the recipe. "Kind of a, uh. Awkward affair, picking them up. A lot of... just... personal comments. Like. I don't know what you think I'm going to use these for, man." He's referring to Garfield, of course. "I'm not exactly out here getting laid."

The mongoose laughs. It's a nice laugh. It's kind of rough and also kind of bubbly. "That's, uh. Yeah." he says. "I'm not exactly having a lot of luck in that area either, my guy. You don't even gotta-- believe me, I know." Johann's not sure, because of the angle of the mask, but he looks like his head is at an angle, like he's checking Johann out, before he shrugs. "You're cute though." he says. "Hard to believe you don't got any shooters out there, yknow?"

Johann would like to believe them, of course. And part of him does. But he raises his eyebrows, anyway, even though he's pretty sure the mongoose can't see them.

"You can't even see my face."

The mongoose shrugs. "I mean, yeah. Kind of the point of this whole charade, isn't it? You got some pretty nice legs, though."

Johann is about ten drinks in, by now. He pauses, for thought.

"Is that the first thing you noticed?" he asks, and the mongoose pauses, as well, as if to give his reply an equal amount of consideration.

"Well." he says, eventually, "The _first_ thing I noticed is that you _also_ have a pretty fucking stellar ass. But I thought that wouldn't be, uh, a great conversational ice breaker. Like, really looking forward to that Human Resources call, I'm sure. Can't just go over to a guy and say a whole bunch of stuff about his ass without some kind of lead in, yknow? I mean I'd give you my name, at least, but, uh, that's kind of not how this thing goes, so, uh." They shrug. The light catches their iridescent jacket, and it shimmers. It's very beautiful. "Yeah. Nice legs. Good ass. It's a statement, my dude. You don't gotta do anything about it."

And with that, the mongoose reaches over, picks up his glass with a gloved hand, and takes a sip from it like it's the most natural thing in the world. And Johann stares at the action - bold, unapologetic, kind of hot, actually - and decides that's all the motivation he needs.

\- 

About forty five minutes later, Johann finds himself pressed against a wall in what he thinks is some kind of storage cupboard. He's not sure, but there are a lot of boxes, and it was relatively near the party hall, so he can only assume so. There's still room enough for them both to move, though, which is probably a good thing. 

The mongoose has his (he assumes? He could be wrong) face buried in Johann's shoulder, and his hands on Johann's back, supporting him in whatever directions the wall can't, and Johann has his legs around the other's waist in return. His shorts are off. His fishnets are also off, in a neat pile next to his shorts with his underwear tucked into them in the sort of haphazard way that came from how quickly he was trying to get his clothes off. This is the stupidest thing he's ever done, and he knows it. (His socks are still on, though. He put them back on because he likes them. No harm in that, he's sure. The mongoose didn't seem to mind.)

(By "didn't seem to mind", he means that he has the guy's dick halfway in his ass, so again, he can only assume.)

How long has it been since he last had sex? He's not sure. Definitely nothing like this, though. Usually there'd be some effort to at least get to know the other person a little. Their interests. Their dreams, goals, aspirations, their fucking _name_. He knows that technically he would have got all of that information, if this wasn't a mask party, so there's probably no need to slut shame himself, but it's a thought he's having, regardless. On the other hand, this is a pretty damn good lay, so he doesn't mind, quite so much.

"Shit." says the mongoose. He sounds out of breath. "Do you do this with all the guys you talk to for ten minutes at a costume party?" His voice is cracking. If Johann had to guess, he'd assume the gum is wearing off. Whatever. Even if he recognises who it is, he can't think it would be that much of a big deal. If it doesn't work out, they can just talk about it. They're all adults here, right? 

"Well." he says, after thinking about all of that. "I don't go to a lot of parties." There's a little laugh, but it's jittery. This is some pretty good sex. It's a wonder he can get the words out at all. "So, uh, on average, I guess. I don't go out and pull weird guys in mongoose masks on a, uh, fucking... nightly basis, if that's what you're asking. That's kind of a first for me."

"I don't usually go for sexy Pagliacci either." says the mongoose. It's dry. Johann almost feels insulted, and then immediately chastises himself for being turned on by that. "So you're good. Like. I get that."

And then he goes in for a kiss. And Johann kisses back, because what else can he do?

(If he had to think about it, he'd probably rate the night a success. He'd definitely think about it tomorrow, when he wakes up, hungover and sober and with the knowledge that he went to a party and fucked a random dude he didn't know. But never mind. That's tomorrow's moral quandry. For now, he's perfectly content to continue fucking the random dude, whatever that says about him.)

They stay like that in relative silence, for a while. It's really only their breathing and minor vocalisations, and Johann closes his eyes and wraps his arms around the other and lets it happen. It's weirdly tender, for drunk party sex. He feels weirdly loved. Maybe that's what motivates people to do stuff like this, he thinks. Maybe this is how it's supposed to feel. He couldn't blame anyone for chasing it, if that was the case. As much as he feels like he's going to regret it tomorrow, there's a weird, disconnected _now_ where he can't imagine doing anything else.

The mongoose pulls back from the kiss, a little too lethargic to be abrupt but still sudden enough that, for a moment, Johann thinks he's going to drop him.

"Oh, _fuck_." he says, and trembles, and pulls Johann a little closer, and rides his climax out frantically, at first, and slowing down as it fades out. It occurs to Johann, vaguely, that he's not wearing a condom. He shrugs it off. Not important, right now. That's future Johann's problem. Instead, his brain is preoccupied by mourning the loss of contact. He lets out a little whine as the mongoose pulls out, and sets him down, slowly, still using the wall for support.

"Fuck." he says. "Sorry. Was _not_ expecting to, uh. I guess I get the opposite of whatever whiskey dick is. Fuck if I know. But it's cool, my fella, I'll just, uh-- don't get up." He adds, even though Johann had no intention of doing so. He pulls his equally iridescent leggings back up, clumsily, and Johann notices that he didn't take his heels off. Fuck. What dedication. He's actually impressed. The mongoose sits down, gives him a little kiss on his cheek, and starts working him through a gentle handjob.

"I got it." he says. "I got you. Taako's good out here."

And then he stops.

His hand just... freezes. All Johann can do is stare at him, and the newly christened Taako looks at his hand, for a moment, obviously bluescreening, and then tilts his head back like he's either serenading the heavens or he's fallen asleep sitting up. "_Fuck_." he says, again. His voice is a little more recognisable, now. Ironic timing, really. Johann fidgets, a little, and wonders if he's going to have to take care of his own orgasm.

Either way, he decides, anonymity is probably not an option for them, any more, so he pulls his own mask off, in camaraderie.

"Hi, Taako." he says. Taako stays still, for a moment, like he's still mentally processing his giant mistake, and then he pulls his own mask. The clasp holding his updo in comes out, too, and he shakes out wavy locks, weirdly bent from being clipped up, and he looks Johann in the eye, and sighs.

"Hi, Johann." he says. "Thank the fucking gods for the anonymous costume party, right."

Johann brushes his hair out of his face, and wonders if it would be rude to start masturbating.

"If it helps," he says. "I had no idea who you were until, like, literally just now. And, uh. I don't really care. So. I mean. I'm still here."

And Taako looks at him, for a moment, as if deciding his options, and then shrugs. "You sure are." he says. "And, yknow, I'm cool with that. Just, uh. Don't tell the fish on me, or whatever. I bet it's just out there, like, silently judging everyone." He pulls off his glove, delicately, and shuffles a bit closer, before continuing with his efforts. "It has so much tea on literally everybody and it can't even spill it because it's a fucking fish. Like, how sad is that."

The contact is is a welcome relief. Johann exhales, shakily, and leans his head back into the wall. It feels good. Better than his own hand, even though it's basically the same action. Weird, he thinks, how that goes.

"I love the implication that I don't have any other friends." he says.

Taako brushes his fringe out of his face and keeps going. Everyone at the Bureau has an incredibly inconvenient haircut for sex, it seems. Johann would almost understand the Director wanting to keep hers so short. 

"You have me." he says. "I mean, you do now. Fuck, dude. I'm not just gonna... Like, rail you _that_ hard and not even call you a friend? Not even add you to, uh, my top 5 on Fantasy Myspace? That would be a real dick move, wouldn't it?"

Johann is pretty sure he's not on anyone's top 5 on Fantasy Myspace. He laughs, even through the stimulation, even if he is getting close.

"I guess." he says. "Can we, uh. We can set that up later."

Taako looks better with his mask off, he decides. No offense to mongooses, of course, but he's a lot more sexually attracted to intelligent, sentient beings. He leans in and gives his now-exposed face another kiss, because what else can he do?

(It's definitely a lot easier. He can say that much.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my boyfriend for making me a cup of tea while i was writing the sex scene. what an inspiration. additional thanks to abba because i wrote basically all of this while listening to honey honey on repeat.
> 
> uh huh, honey honey.


	2. Medical Play - Merle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flu epidemic hits the Bureau, catching Johann in its' wake. It's all the recycled air, apparently.
> 
> Unfortunately, all the good clerics were taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second day in and we're already getting in the rarepairs. nice one

It's also been a while since Johann last visited the infirmary. It's a record that he'd rather not break, considering that all the other times he's been there haven't exactly been fun. (And, obviously, being in the infirmary is never fun, but Johann's circumstance is different. Specific. May or may not have something to do with all the weirdly clean scars littering his body. An entry existing for him in a dictionary, somewhere, under "weirdo who had some kind of breakdown and slit his femoral veins and attempted to drown himself in the Voidfish tank." Fun. They hadn't let him leave after _that_ one for a while.) 

He realises this might be a futile effort when he wakes up in the morning one day with absolute certainty that at some point in the next five minutes, he's going to throw up. Horribly. Regardless of whether or not he makes it to the bathroom.

Thankfully, he does. He'd rather not have to deal with the aftermath of that. Prestidigitation only does so much, of course, and Johann isn't sure he even has the energy for cantrips, at the moment. He stays where he is, for a while, dazed, willing himself to move but seemingly unable to. Resting his forehead against the toilet seat and praying to whatever is up there for a quick death, at least. He's survived enough near-death experiences, so far. It would be cruel to end him slowly over something so minor.

Eventually, he reaches up and pulls the chain. And spends a good few minutes determining whether to pull the emergency cord in the bathroom, too (nothing to do with his specific circumstance, just a cautious formality in every bathroom) before deciding instead to make his way back to bed and call the HR people instead. Yknow. Just to reassure them that it's a totally different thing. He'd rather not go in-- well, he'd rather not go in. That's a complete sentence. But if he _has_ to, he doesn't want any assumptions made when he does.

There's something kind of awful about being wheeled back in, though. It sort of feels like he's failed, somewhere along the line, even though he knows really that this is no fault of his own. And it's not. That much is explained to him by his favourite, slightly stressed HR employee, upon coming to check if he's okay. Apparently there's some kind of bug going around the Bureau. He's by no means the first person to be rushed in like this, and probably won't be the last, either.

"It's because all of the air is recycled." Brad says, a lot more cheerfully than someone really _should_ say about a flu epidemic, and sanitises his hands with the Fantasy Hand Sanitising Gel Dispenser affixed to the wall. "One of the disadvantages about living on the moon, I guess! Stuff like this spreads like... well." He pauses, as if to think of the words. "Like it has, I guess." Johann's being settled in, at this point, and while it's annoying, it's distracting, at the very least. 

"We, uh. Don't actually have a lot of staff up here that haven't come down with something awful. That's why I'm here!" He does sound way too hype about this, Johann thinks, and then decides that he doesn't have the energy to care. "We'll send an actual cleric up to deal with you, when they've got a minute. I'm not actually authorised to do anything too medically complicated, but I'll be happy to walk you through some mindful thinking exercises? Cause I know it all... like this all sucks, I get that. But it might help to, uh, keep your spirits up, right? Think of it as, uh... an experience, you know, rather than some cosmic stroke of bad luck, maybe something you can learn from--"  
  
He's trying. Johann knows he is. He's not sure he really has the energy to think about anything, let alone mindfully, and rests his head back on the pillow. It's cold, so that's nice. He's just going to focus on staying awake, if that. Not throwing up on the sheets. That seems like a plan.

"I get you." says Johann, even though he absolutely does not. "But I, uh. I'm just gonna sleep, dude. We can... talk about this some other time. Next flu cycle, maybe."

He doesn't mean for it to come out sarcastic, but thinking about it later, it probably did. No matter. Brad is famously immune to that sort of thing, so he just laughs, adjusts his glasses, and sanitises his hands again.

"Alright." He says. "That's probably for the best. We'll send someone up for you as soon as we can, okay? We're a little short staffed, at the moment, but, uh-- you just try and nap. By the time you wake up, there'll probably be someone with you. And if not, I'm happy to help in whatever way I legally can!"

It's a nice sentiment. Johann sort of nods at it, in vague thanks, before pretty much just passing out immediately. No worries on the "try" front there, Brad. It's all he can really do _not_ to.

-

Brad was right, in a sense. Johann wakes up with the vague feeling that something's a little off. Like he's not alone. He feels pretty much the same as before, except now he's cold and his arm hurts. He adjusts his head in its' comfortable indent in the pillow, and attempts to shrug that off and resume the level of sleep he was previously quite satisfied with. He has absolutely no reason to want to be awake now, thank you. He's quite happy just napping this one out until he feels better.

That sentiment pretty much dissolves in favour of snapping himself awake when he feels something touch his inner thigh. 

It's not something he usually wakes up to. Hardly a usual experience, for Johann, and definitely not one he consented to. He's dazed, and filled with panic, and his first course of action is to grab whatever's touching him (and it's wet, which makes this whole thing even more weird) and throw it as hard as he can in what he only assumes is a straight line. 

It makes a wet sort of "thwap" noise. There's another, fainter, "Oof." 

It buys him enough time, at least, to force his eyes open, force himself to sit, and-- oh. Ouch. Those are IVs in. Good to know. He's going to avoid putting pressure on that arm, any more, because that was really fucking painful. The adrenaline is overriding the exhaustion, it seems, for the moment, and gives him enough clarity to take in his surroundings. He's still in the infirmary. The curtains are drawn around his bed, which is nice, because the next thing Johann notices is that he's naked. Which is disconcerting. He's positive he was wearing clothes earlier. 

The _next_ thing he notices is one of the Reclaimers, stood by his bed, in the process of extracting a wet sponge from his face.

"Jeez, kid." he says. "You throw hard."

"What the fuck are you doing here." says Johann, in return, because he's feeling like getting to the point. The Reclaimer puts his hand up. Merle? He thinks it's Merle. There's a lot of Ms and he gets them confused.

"Chill out." he says. "It's all fine. I'm like, the only cleric keepin' any sort of hold on their organs at the moment. This ain't usually my wheelhouse either. I'm just, uh, the first guy they picked up." Johann keeps staring at him, working that through in his head, and Merle (he thinks?) continues with a "It got the other guys as well. Mags and Taako-- Look. Nobody's getting any Relics for a while, okay? I get to stay here, til this whole thing blows over, and you get to lay back down and let me give you a damn bath."

It makes sense. He can't really argue with that. Johann nods, lamely, and lays back down. "Sorry," he mumbles, and turns his head to look at the opposing wall, awkwardly, just for the sake of not making eye contact. He feels Merle give his leg a soft pat. He's going with Merle, for now. If he's proved wrong later, that's on him, but he thinks it's a pretty good guess.

"It's okay." he says. "You've got one hell of a fever. I-- Look, I can't blame you for being a little disorientated." He's started the whole bathing process again. It's weird. He's not sure how he feels about it. The whole thing is offputting and he'd rather it was done as soon as possible. "If you're worried, you can make it up to me when you're not dying, yknow? Buy me a drink, or something."

He's probably joking. Johann decides he's joking. The sponge is getting a little close for comfort. He tries not to think about it, too much. It's quiet, for a while, and he just keeps his eyes closed and lets the cleric do his thing, and he's actually on the cusp of falling asleep again when he hears him speak.

"...Those are... pretty bad." It takes Johann opening his eyes again to figure out what Merle's referring to, and at first he thinks he's being _super_ obtuse and staring very obviously at his genitals. It takes a few seconds to work out he's looking at his scars, instead. 

"Seems a lot like life hasn't been very kind to you." he says, and then, "I'm... sorry. If you don't wanna talk about it, you don't have to. Just... whatever you need, buddy. I can't do much to help, but, yknow, I'll do my best." 

It's a nice sentiment. Johann picks at the sheets, absentmindedly. "They're old." he says, and the cleric just nods. Talking is uncomfortable, he decides. His throat is sore, like it's dry, and sort of like something acidic is stuck in there. Like he could cough it out, but it would hurt if he did. Maybe he should just stay quiet, for now.

"They look healed." Merle says, and he keeps going, cleans off Johann's legs surprisingly efficiently. It suggests experience. It's probably part of the whole cleric deal, because fuck if Johann knows all the details on that. He decides not to ask. He realises, dimly, that he's putting a lot of effort into not thinking about it. He can't remember the last time someone gave him a bath. There's a certain vulnerability to this whole thing that makes him self conscious. And incredibly uncomfortable. He doesn't know why, just that there's some kind of unease tugging at the edge of his senses. He feels weirdly helpless. 

The cleric puts the sponge back in the bucket, and Johann opens his eyes, and fidgets, and realises that he has an erection.

Okay. Cool. He presses his legs together, surreptitiously. Don't make this weird, Johann. You cannot make this weird. He's being dried off with a soft towel, so he can only assume that bath time is over. That's probably a good thing. He must have woken up when it was nearly done, which seems a little unfair, to him. He would rather have woken up when it was finished entirely, and not have to know about it or think about it, or generally regard it as a possibility, but he supposes he can't always get what he wants.

"Okay, so that's done with." Merle says, and it jogs Johann out of his thoughts, enough to get him to sit up a little, watching the dwarf produce a little papery gown from some kind of Fantasy Hospital Trolley. "Yeah, you, uh. You don't get real clothes. Sorry about that. There's probably a good reason for it. They're, uh, disposable and whatnot. Saves you puking all over your pyjamas, if nothing else." He makes his way back over to Johann, holds the gown out, over him, like he's trying to agitate a bull, and then pauses, withdrawing his hands. "Uh. Can you put your arms up? I'm gonna need some help, kid. I'm too short for this crap. I mean. If you can't move, that's okay--" he adds, as Johann shifts, raises his arms, as much as he can. It's not much, but they're off the bed, at least, and to his credit, Merle shoves his arms through the holes as quickly as he can. "Yeah. Cool. You're good. I think it buttons at the back, or something, but, uh, you're probably not getting up any time soon, so you don't gotta do that, unless you want to." He does seem ready to, though, lurking at Johann's side, almost behind him, so Johann leans forward, as much as he can, and stays there until the gown feels more like a shirt and less like a giant blanket.

"Right." Merle seems lost, for a moment. He steps back to the foot of Johann's bed, looks at him, picks up some kind of list from the trolley and looks at that. Adjusts his glasses, as he does. Johann props himself up against the headboard, thoroughly awake, by now, and watches as the dwarf evidently figures out the next stage in his Elaborate Medical Plan, and trots back with a spoon and a little glass bottle. It's ominous. Johann leans back, shifting uncomfortably. He still has an erection. It doesn't appear to be going anywhere. 

"You gotta take this, apparently." Merle seems oblivious to his plight. He's reading the label on the bottle, the hand holding the spoon also holding his glasses in a particular place, like that was help. It's a very old man sort of look, Johann thinks. He's not sure how old any of them are, actually. He wonders if it would be weird to ask. "And, uh, I'll do a little Lesser Restoration, come back in a couple hours, see how you feel. It might take a few, I don't know. I'm new to this. But I'm the best you got, so you gotta trust me." He adds it on like it's some kind of disclaimer. Johann bites his lip. Merle pours a spoonful of the medication out and holds the spoon to his mouth.

"Alright." he says. "Open up." And Johann just.... _stares_ at him. And Merle clicks his tongue. "Come on." he says. "You gotta take it."

Johann reaches up to take the spoon, and his eyes widen in silent indignation as Merle literally raises it out of his reach. Bastard. He wonders why the Reclamation unit are quite so keen to pick on him. "Nope." says the cleric. "I don't trust your hands. You're gonna spill it all over yourself, and I _just_ bathed you, and we don't have a lot. Get it over with, and you can be mad about it later. How does that sound."

Johann relents. He opens his mouth. It's sort of weirdly fruity. It soothes his throat, a little, as he swallows it, and he's almost mad that it's so effective. He deals with that by leaning back against the headboard and glaring at Merle with as much energy as he can physically muster.

He gets a "Good _boy_." in response. It's dry. It's obviously meant to be sarcastic. Merle reaches over and pats Johann on the head, and it's very patronising, and it should _not_ be doing to him what it currently is, but he's a horrible fucking person, apparently. "That could have been a lot easier. It's fine, yknow? Let me cast this spell and I'll get out of your face." And Johann almost wants to argue that he can do that himself, thanks, he's a pretty fucking skilled bard, as it happens, but he doesn't have the energy, or his violin, and he's not even sure if he _can_ cast Lesser Restoration (he thinks he can, but he'd look pretty fucking stupid if it turns out he can't) so he just sulks, quietly, watches as the dwarf knocks out a quick prayer and directs the holy energy into whatever insert-deity-here-forsaken virus has taken hold of his faculties.

And it does make him feel a bit better. So there's that. His shoulders sort of slump, a little. He's just tired now. And maybe Merle gets that, because he leans over, adjusts Johann's pillows, as much as he can, and he says "Come on," softly, and gently guides the bard back into laying down. He keeps him somewhat propped up, adding a "Let's make sure you don't choke to death," and when Johann's satisfied that he's done being wriggles around, he fidgets some more, to get himself comfy, and stares at Merle through half lidded eyes. He's trying his best to keep them open until the cleric leaves, at least. He gets a little wave, in response.

"I'll come back later." he says. "Do the spell again. You got a couple hours to nap, or whatever. Can you keep it together that long?" He's pretty sure it's a joke, but Johann nods, regardless, and it gets him a chuckle in response.

"Fair enough." he says. "Have a good one, Johann. Don't let the, uh, jellyfish bite, or whatever." 

It's a really dumb thing to say. He's sure it's supposed to be an insult, of sorts. A friendly, well-meaning rib. Fair enough. Johann watches as Merle ducks out of the curtain around his bed, and heads off, presumably to do the exact same thing to someone else. Not really his concern. Johann settles down, and closes his eyes, and tries to sleep.

He's still hard, he realises. Oh, well. Not really a lot of options for dealing with that, he supposes. They have left him a box of tissues, and there's a little bin next to his bed, so while he has some privacy he might as well do something about it. He'll sleep better, if nothing else. Johann eases his free hand - the hand that doesn't have a bunch of wires coming out of it - under the sheets, and gets to work.

(He still feels some kind of residual shame. The same sort of helplessness. He briefly entertains the idea of someone getting him undressed, giving him a bath, gently, sort of like that one, but driving him mad with fleeting little touches and reassurance that things would be okay, soon, and how good he was, keeping still. So well behaved.) (And then he comes, hard, silencing himself only by virtue of not having the energy or the voice to speak. And he cleans himself up, tosses the tissues he spends doing it, and ponders, vaguely, that the cleric put so much energy into bathing him, and he's probably just undone a bunch of his hard work.)

(And then he decides to get some sleep and not think too hard about it.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like. two hours late but you all have to be nice to me because i had a poorly stomach ):


End file.
